No One Can Hear You

by Nikki Crutchley

  Atkins nodded in Zoe’s direction without making eye contact, although his eyes did flick towards her chest.

  ‘You understand, Ms Haywood,’ Paynter carried on, ‘that this can be contained. It needs to be contained for the sake of the school.’

  For the sake of the bloody school. God forbid if this gets out.

  Paynter perched against his desk so that Zoe was eye level with his crotch. She leaned back in her chair as far as she could and averted her eyes so she was staring at the framed picture of St Clement on the wall behind him. She wondered what he thought of the school which used his name.

  ‘This has all been blown out of proportion,’ Atkins said, palms out to show there was nothing he could do. ‘My son was just show-boating. Trying to be the big man in front of his mates.’

  Zoe knew she had to restrain herself, so adjusted her voice accordingly, to what her students would have recognised as her ‘Ms H is about to lose it’ voice. ‘Blown out of proportion? A couple of hours ago your son pulled a knife on a student and then turned it on me.’

  Zoe had seen Jeremy Atkins move from his chair and over to Brendan Webber, one of her star pupils. She’d hardly had time to admonish him for getting out of his seat when he pulled the knife from under his jersey and rested it on Brendan’s shoulder, slowly moving it up towards Brendan’s double chin. She’d wanted to throw herself across the desk and manhandle Jeremy away from Brendan but instead told Jeremy, in that same steely voice she had just used on his father, to hand the knife over. His attention turned to her and she held her ground as he walked up to her. The rest of the class was stunned into silence.

  ‘Jeremy, you need to put the knife down.’

  ‘I don’t need to do anything, Ms Haywood.’

  ‘Jeremy, you’re scaring a lot of people. Please give me the knife.’

  ‘Are you scared, Ms Haywood?’

  ‘Jeremy, I just need to protect the students in my class. Please hand me the knife.’ Her legs felt as though they couldn’t handle her weight, and sweat dripped down the inside of her arms. But she wasn’t going to let this little prick know she was scared.

  Jeremy barked out a laugh and the whole class jumped in unison. He put the knife on her desk and returned to his chair. He held up his hand for high-fives with his posse of rich kids, but the high-fives given in return were half-hearted. This time even they thought he’d gone too far.

  ‘I apologise Ms Haywood,’ said Atkins, bringing Zoe back to the present.

  ‘Mr Atkins, the apology shouldn’t come from you, it should come from Jeremy. Along, I think, with expulsion or at least suspension and a ban for the rest of the year from any sports teams and after-school activities.’

  Paynter sighed, and walked around the solid mahogany desk to take a seat. ‘Zoe,’ he said.

  He’s never called me by my first name.

  ‘Let’s just leave this for now. We don’t want to do anything rash. Can I suggest a meeting with you tomorrow? I see you’re free after second period.’

  She was prepared to leave it for twenty-four hours, but not much more. ‘Certainly,’ she said, rising.

  Both men stood, and they filed out of the darkened room. Jeremy was sitting, blonde head bowed, picking at his nails, on one of the rimu chairs outside the principal’s office, dark beige carpet beneath his leather brogues. Zoe thought of the inner-city London school she had come from a year ago where the chairs were plastic and the floor was covered in linoleum curling at the corners. It didn't matter what kind of school you attended or who your parents were or what they did, some kids were just born to cause trouble.

  ‘Jeremy. Come.’ His father tapped him on the shoulder and they left down the long corridor.

  ‘Ms Haywood, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Paynter turned and went back to his office.

  Zoe nodded, unable to say much more, even though every part of her wanted to shake the idiot and tell him he was supposed to be an educator of children, not an arse-kisser of the rich. It was three o’clock. She didn’t have any kids this period and the bell would ring in twenty minutes. She headed for the car park, thinking of the bottle of wine and last night’s pizza in the fridge. Perfect.

  She caught up to Jeremy and his father as they left the building. Jeremy turned around, raised his brows and winked at her.

  Arrogant little shit.

  Chapter 2

  Lillian Haywood sat on her couch and drained her second whisky. A notebook lay on her lap, the pen abandoned for now. She stared into the distance humming along to ‘Love Me Tender’ as Elvis’s dulcet tones slipped out of the speakers and around the room. She was onto something. She was sure of it. Today was Wednesday. Megan had been missing since Sunday night. They’d both known it would happen. Lillian was desperate to get help, but Megan was adamant that she wasn’t in danger, or at least was sure she could handle it. Young people these days thought they were bulletproof.

  She picked up the pen and tapped it against her chin, reading what she’d written, trying to make sense of it, feeling important bits of information begin to disappear, to slip. It was impossible, like trying to grab at smoke or steam. She looked down at the page and saw she’d resorted to doodling again. Half the page was covered in five-pointed stars, some she’d turned into shooting stars, arching tails against a scribbled inky-blue background. She did this when her thoughts wandered. She’d noticed at school a couple of weeks ago that some of her students’ academic records had the same stars down the margins. She was mortified when she came across it but now couldn’t think what she’d done about it. Probably forgotten and moved on to something else. She made a mental note to remember to sort it tomorrow, then laughed at herself. If she didn’t set herself a reminder in her calendar on her computer she would forget in the next few minutes. She was having what she called a foggy day. Her grandmother, her mother’s mother, had suffered from Alzheimer’s and had these kinds of days. The kind where her thoughts weren’t coming properly, and she was confusing herself. The whisky hadn’t helped. She had a feeling she would have to start giving that up.

  Her thoughts turned to Zoe, as they did more often these days. She knew it was because she was sick. Regret had started seeping its way into her consciousness and was making her feel physically ill. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d gone to pick up the phone over the last six months to talk to her, to apologise. But always at the last minute she realised that sorry wasn’t ever going to be enough.

  She heard a noise down the hallway. Something being knocked over. She got up from the couch and walked towards the door, steadying herself on the back of the armchair, taking a moment as the head rush passed. She walked slowly down the hallway, realising what an easy target she was after Megan. In her bedroom the bedside lamp was on the floor and she’d left her ranch slider open. She couldn’t remember opening it but that didn’t mean anything these days. She slid it closed and locked it, double-checking it this time. Nothing seemed out of place so she walked back down the hallway, seating herself on the couch again. Elvis appeared and wound his way through her legs, his head pushing up against her leg.

  ‘Was that you, was it? Giving me a fright like that.’ She patted the cat. ‘I’ll feed you soon. Let me finish this.’

  The creak of the floorboards announced his arrival. The man appeared suddenly at the lounge door. His bulk took up the whole doorway, the sweet smell of marijuana filled the room immediately, and she swallowed uncomfortably as he stared back at her.

  ‘Who are you? Get out of my house.’ She went to rise but he walked towards her with his hand out.

  ‘Stay there, Lillian.’ His voice gravelly, rough.

  He knew her name. Did she know him? This had happened before. He looked vaguely familiar. He wasn’t the kind of man you forget. Thick ropes of dreads hung over each shoulder. His dark shiny skin glistened. Full lips, at this moment, hinted at a smile. His hands, hangin
g loose at his sides, were covered in tattoos: a skull on each hand and each knuckle bore roughly inked diamonds, clubs, hearts and spades that blurred into almost indistinguishable shapes. His name would come to her, it always did, and at the most useless times, like an hour after the person had left or the following morning in the shower. Lately, the worst was when she needed to introduce someone, and their name, which had been on her tongue only a second before, disappeared. Poof! She knew she was starting to get a name for herself around town. If she was honest with herself, it had been going on for some time.

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked. She couldn’t figure out if she was being an idiot for letting an intruder into her house or if she was being impolite to someone she knew.

  ‘Of course.’ He gave her a smile made up of crooked, yellowing teeth, and she couldn’t figure out if he was serious or not.

  He grabbed her glass from the coffee table. ‘Stay put.’ She dared not move and watched as he disappeared into the kitchen. ‘I’ll get you another one then you need to answer some questions.’

  Lillian felt frozen to the spot. Her body knew she was in danger; her brain was still deliberating.

  ‘Whisky on the rocks with a twist.’ He placed the glass in her hand and she watched it tremble as she raised it to her lips.

  He knew her favourite drink. This, strange as it seemed, made her feel better. She sipped at her drink and he did the same with the one he’d made himself. He walked around the lounge, looking at her bookshelf. He made her nervous.

  Within a few minutes her drink was gone. It was her third in the last hour and left her drowsy. She wished he would go away now.

  He looked at her through squinted eyes, as if expecting something, but she didn’t know what. ‘You feel OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said and was surprised when her words slurred. She tried to sit up straight, but her bones felt as if they were made of marshmallow.

  He stood by the coffee table in front of her. ‘It won’t take long. Won’t be too painful.’ He took an orange canister from his jeans pocket. ‘Found these in your bathroom cabinet. You oldies always have something. Codeine. Looks like you never took them. Had yourself quite a stash.’ He winked at her as though they were sharing a secret.

  She’d had them since February when she sprained her wrist. A repeat prescription she’d filled but never used. She glanced down at her empty glass on the coffee table, only now noticing the remnants of white powder ringing it. She shook her head as if to make things clearer, watched him go through her desk drawers. She closed her eyes and tried to piece her thoughts together, but her brain felt more scrambled than usual.

  The notebook.

  Without taking her eyes from him she reached around for it, hoping to push it into the waistband of her trousers.

  ‘Come on, there must be some evidence of your sticky-beaking. You’ve asked too many questions, and I’ve been told you’re not going to stop. So that’s my job.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this.’ She knew who he was now. It had clicked, as it usually did. Mostly she would feel relief or satisfaction, like the last part of a jigsaw being put in place, but this time she wished for the darkness that normally confounded and scared her.

  ‘Course I will.’

  Lillian took a breath inward. It was difficult, and she let out a sob.

  ‘What have you got there?’ he asked, walking over and grabbing the notebook. It was a new one and she’d written on only a couple of pages. She was sure he wouldn’t find the other one, no matter how hard he looked.

  ‘Don’t want this to get into the wrong hands,’ he said, flicking through it. The phone rang on her desk in the corner and he spun around. ‘Don’t move.’

  She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her limbs were like concrete, and keeping her eyes open was almost impossible.

  The answering machine picked up on the fifth ring. ‘Hi Lillian, it’s Doctor Meade. Sorry for calling so late but my clinic was never-ending tonight. I have your results and would like you to come in. It’s as we expected, but don’t lose hope. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ve got you down for eleven-thirty.’

  ‘Not good news?’ he asked, smiling. ‘You don’t need to worry about that anymore. Where’s your mobile?’

  ‘What mobile?’

  ‘Don’t play with me, Lillian. Where’s your mobile? We know Megan left you a message on Sunday night. We don’t need anyone coming across it. Now where’s your fucking mobile?’

  Lillian inclined her head towards her desk. He walked over and picked up magazines and books, finally finding the phone under a manilla folder.

  ‘I deleted the message,’ she said

  ‘Yeah right. Password?’

  She told him and watched as he checked the messages. He wouldn’t find anything. It was her work phone.

  ‘Who else have you been chatting to?’ he asked, pocketing the mobile.

  ‘No one. Just Megan.’

  ‘Anyone else? Speak now or forever hold your peace.’

  ‘No. No one else.’

  ‘You positive?’

  She nodded. She hadn’t found out much but what she had was hidden from prying eyes. She realised now she was expecting something to happen. Megan had been so blasé but deep down Lillian knew they were getting close to where those girls had ended up. Wherever Megan had been taken. Who was going to fight for them now?

  The knock on the door made her jump, and then smile with relief. Someone was here. Someone would save her.

  ‘About fucking time.’

  Lillian heard footsteps and a man appeared at the doorway. The two men whispered to each other. This new one looked at her and smiled. She didn’t smile back. He obviously wasn’t here to help. She had the same frustrating sense of déjà vu that she knew him. She’d seen him recently but his name escaped her for now. She watched as her notebook and mobile were handed over, and the other man disappeared without another word. The man with the dreads turned to her, eyes narrowing as he appraised her. ‘I need to go.’

  He took his glass into the kitchen. She could hear washing up and cupboards closing as he put the glass away.

  As if it never happened. As if he was never here.

  He walked back into the lounge, grabbed the canister and wiped it. He then grabbed her hand, pressed her fingertips on it, and let it drop to the floor without him touching it. He did the same with the whisky bottle, then walked away without another word.

  They’re going to think I did this to myself.

  She tried to get up, but her body doubled over as her stomach spasmed. She lay back against the couch and heard the front door shut. She needed to find Megan. No one believed her that she was missing. But she was. She’d vanished. And Zoe. What about Zoe? All this time she could’ve called her and told her how sorry she was. She was so, so sorry. And now she was never going to know that. All this time wasted.

  ‘Zoe … Megan …’ she slurred, then lost consciousness.

  Chapter 3

  Zoe took a deep breath, smoothed down her white shirt and ran a hand down her sleek black ponytail, more of a nervous habit than caring what she looked like.

  Marg smiled at her. ‘Just go in, dear. He’s expecting you.’

  Zoe knocked once and entered. Paynter stood by the open window smoking a cigar. He looked at her without apology, closed the window and walked over to his desk and extinguished the cigar in the ashtray. He lobbed a matchbox into an open drawer but missed. It bounced onto Zoe’s foot and landed on the carpet.

  Zoe bent down, smiling at his cockiness. The matchbox was black with a white floral border, oddly feminine. She placed it on Paynter’s desk but he grabbed it and put it into his desk drawer, slamming it shut.

  ‘Ms Haywood. Please, take a seat. I’ve been in conference with Jeremy’s parents and the chairman of the Board.’

  ‘Good. And what’
s your decision?’ Zoe hated herself for feeling excited, but Jeremy Atkins had been causing trouble in her classroom all year and she couldn’t wait to see the back of him.

  ‘We’ve decided that Jeremy will be off school for the next three days,’ he said, not meeting Zoe’s eye.

  ‘So you’ve suspended him?’ I’d rather he was expelled but this is better than nothing.

  ‘I wouldn’t say suspended, as such. Jeremy is a terribly bright student and we don’t want a silly incident like this to mar his record.’

  Zoe was stunned. Words flowed from her mouth that made no sense, so she stopped and tried again. ‘What do you mean, a “silly incident”? He pulled a knife on a student but because you’re worried about his academic record there’s nothing that says he did this. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Excuse me, Ms Haywood?’

  ‘You’re giving him a three-day holiday. How the hell is he going to learn if you and his father keep pandering to him? He’s a spoilt rich kid who thinks he can get away with anything.’

  ‘If you must know, Phil Atkins has very generously offered to donate the rest of the money we need to upgrade the library.’

  The upgrade of the library had been on the cards for over a year and donations had tapered off. Zoe knew they needed twenty thousand dollars before work could commence. ‘So his son commits a violent act, putting my life and students’ lives at risk, and all daddy has to do is pull out a cheque book and make it all better? This is bullshit.’

  ‘Ms Haywood, please.’

  ‘No.’ Zoe held up a hand to silence him. ‘This school is corrupt. You’re corrupt. How can you expect to educate young men, send them out into the world when the so-called grown-ups have no morals?’

  ‘Ms Haywood, you are out of line and I suggest you calm down.’ The loose skin under Paynter’s chin that had been strangled into submission by his tie quivered in indignation.

  ‘Calm down? You can’t see anything wrong here, can you? You’re blinded by fucking dollar signs. Fuck this, I quit.’